Rise
by Ann aspiring writer
Summary: He watches her rise...
1. Rise

He watches her rise.

From the lion`s den, from the consuming flames of grief, from all the cruelty she was forced to endure in that nest of vipers. From all the heavy blows and searing pains, from all the uncertainty and deceit. Above all, from the lies. Of course, ironical that he should think of lies and liars somehow detached, as if he wasn`t one of the best. '_The best' _he murmurs a little haughtily, taking pride in how well he is able to manipulate others, to throw them blindly against each other, to play the Game of Thrones.

But there are other, even more demanding games to engage in. At least this is what he tells himself. That it`s all a game – a chess board with pawns and a skilled player to move them just like he wishes so as to win the match. Among the pawns, there might be, of course, some, or_ one_ to deserve more. But could there be a queen among the others? Would that be wise?

The answer is obviously no. But right now, as he is pondering the intricate details of the web he has woven, a girl turned to shell is breathing deeply the knowledge that she has to fight. She has what it takes to survive – patience, desire to learn by observing others, hiding in the shadows of innocence to preserve her life. He feels her darkening day by day, watches the pure feathers of childhood turn to more mysterious ones, prone to hide plans and secrets of their own.

He is proud of her. Sweet Sansa, moving to King`s Landing in order to marry her honorable and handsome prince, only to discover a deranged and vicious boy with a penchant for torment. Then to fall in love with the Knight of Flowers, who couldn`t care less about her girlish charms. Others might have found her naïve and annoying, a child who refused to grow up. On the contrary, he has always considered her endearing, at the same time noticing her strength and potential. Yes, there was definitely more to Sansa Stark.

'Sweetling' he smirks, remembering well enough how she tried to play him when he offered to help her go home, after her engagement to Loras.

She would be much more convincing now, after her quiet observation. It pleases him greatly to be observed by her, even as a study material. After all, he is no open book, but neither is she, as he is beginning to fathom.

_Cat`s daughter_. He wonders at fate`s irony, for despite his incessant plotting and scheming, it seems that life always has the upper hand. He is amazed at his own lauded ladder, his own unblinking chaos, for having created Sansa Stark, having shaped a _queen of the ashes_, different and special, set apart from all the others. Even from Cat. Because he sees now that he values this apprentice mockingbird for herself and what she has managed to accomplish in a world of liars, killers, monsters.

Day after day, she grows more perceptive, more sure of herself, perhaps even more beautiful. More. The little dove turned into a swan, with painted feathers of fiery red, pure white, inviting black and shining eyes.

Eyes that convey so much. He remembers the kiss they shared in the haunting snow and what he could read when they broke apart – surprise, unease, hesitance, sensuously mingled with a glimmer of pride on her face, for having made him let go of his controlled façade long enough to kiss her fully on the mouth. In spite of himself, he felt vulnerable for allowing himself such a step in the unknown. It is, after all, just like he told her on the ship.

'Everything'.

His reverie is suddenly broken, ice melting with the arrival of spring.

'Everything?' she whispers softly, smiling slightly, blue Tully eyes boring into his from afar, from a faraway place he could only dream of reaching.

'Everything that is worth risking everything to get it' he continues, as his traitorous mind suggests that there could be only one deserving of such a sacrifice.

'My lord…'. He frowns. '_Petyr_, you speak in riddles. I`m afraid I can`t think of any such thing, hard as I try to.'

He smiles, bemused. Once upon a time, a few months ago, he would have taken her word for it. But now, she knows too much, sees too much to be oblivious to what he`s hinting at.

'Can`t you? You`ve been bold enough in the past to profess knowledge of what I want. Could you please enlighten me, sweetling?'

She knows for certain that not long ago, such an insistent yet subtle approach would have affected her, making her blush or linger to much with her eyes on the floor. But now, she`s just pondering over an answer to what he`s been silently asking her all along. It intrigued her immensely to be given such enormous freedom, for she was free to respond in any way she wished to, without having to hide behind a curtain of empty courtesies. He probably would have seen right through her anyway.

'My _lord_, you want to succeed in whatever devious goal you set for yourself – the North, the Iron Throne, any sort of political power. Please let me finish and do not object. I`m not blind anymore. You want it. Want to throw it in their faces, be it your intelligence, your skill or your ambition. And I need this too. Desperately. To make them for what they inflicted upon me, to have them at my mercy and not show them an ounce of kindness.'

He smiles fondly, aware that there is no going back to old Sansa now. She is too far gone, changed to her core. And he admires her for it.

'And you want me.

So don`t throw me away once you don`t need me anymore. Because I want to stay by your side while everything burns with war or freezes with winter.'

He kisses her then, harder this time, sealing a deal more sinuous and tempting than any other before. He would offer her roses, but she is no longer fascinated by their beauty. He would whisper comforting words to her, but the past only makes her want to carve a better future.

'As any other man, I can give you myself. I promise not to betray you, or dispose of you. We`ll see each other through this until the end.

And unlike most man, my beloved Sansa Stark, I can give you the world.'

She smiles then, wider, purer and more enveloping than any other promise.

**This is my first Sansa/Petyr fanfiction. I appreciate any opinion or review. I think their relationship is the most interesting in the entire show and wish things could go this way. I can only hope!**


	2. Changed

She watches him change.

It`s almost imperceptible, really. But she`s always been attentive to details no one else could notice. They might have been insignificant, rendering her oblivious to the machinations of the Game of Thrones, to people`s true nature. But sometimes, small thing concur and give birth to a pattern, something real, definite and indisputable. Peace is, after all, a sum of moments, love- a sum of hearts and life- a sum of feelings.

It seem that her little observations prove worthy, as does she. For she knows, without a doubt, that Petyr is changing. For the first time since her father`s demise, she feels truly proud of being Sansa Stark – child of Winterfell, daughter of the honorable Nedd Stark, the key to the North. Lost without a trace for almost everyone in the world. She wonders if at least they`ve been sorry for having lost their favorite silly little girl to torment.

She feels that the naïve dove, easily enchanted and manipulated, is gone from her, taken and locked away in King`s Landing. Forever. The new Sansa tunes out the silly notions of knights in perfect armors and handsome princes with Lannister golden hair. She filters the rumors, rethinks the crucial moments in her life ever since she left the North with a surprising, new-found maturity. She know how to play the game, tell a poorly disguised lie and, above all, she knows him.

Because she is his protégé now. Perhaps even more, but they are still dancing around each other, hesitating after what felt like an era of loneliness, even after the beautiful and meaningful words they`ve confided to the other. She loves his unpredictability, the surprise and tingling anticipation of fathoming what is going on in that great mind of his.

With each passing day, he opens up to her, in small, strange, exciting ways. He smiles softly whenever they meet and this simple gesture makes him look younger, less stiff, undeniably human. This is Petyr Baelish, not Littlefinger. She feels proud, when they walk hand in hand in the gardens still in bloom, fingers intertwined gently, closer than ever. It`s a rare thing for her, to stand near someone so powerful without the slightest fear – only the sweet hesitation of lovers facing the beginning. Even though he is older and more experienced than her, he sometimes seems way closer to her age. She detects unguarded hints of sentimentality in his eyes, wild dreams behind the schemes and deadly plans, hopes of love and acceptance behind Littlefinger`s sarcastic, lonely and independent existence.

Sansa knows he used to be out t, there for himself, without a single person to genuinely care or to count on, which makes his secretive and ongoing success even more impressive. Her loneliness and his isolation have been brought together by fate`s ironical twists and turns, thus feelings have begun to emerge from the shadowy waters of betrayal, deceit and crushed dreams.

She enjoys his presence, his intelligence fascinates her and his gentle words are a source of comfort, while also making her unconsciously open up to a world of possibilities, instead of one of terror and humiliation. He teaches her there is a chance to fight with her mind, her beauty, her innocence, to extricate herself from fear`s clutches and embrace her identity, for they have never forgotten who she is – Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

She anxiously awaits his return from his journeys in the far-flung corners of the Vale, as they must not let their guard down now. Petyr secures the lord`s remaining support, trying to calm stormy waters with his persuasion. They have deemed her accompanying him in his political visits would be too dangerous, because they know for sure that power has eyes and ears everywhere. He always comes back successful, with his boyish smile on his lips and his arms ready to keep her tight to his lean chest. Sansa wonders if he ever asks himself when they started to feel this way towards one another. For her, it must have been on those lonely and cold nights she felt grateful for at least being alive and away from Joeffrey, even though she was aware of the danger exulting from her protector.

But danger has its appeal too – it sharpens the senses, renders one more daring, more prone to explore and discover, more courageous when the lights are blurred. She likes to kiss him, peruse the plainly-written joy in his grey eyes. There`s not a touch that is unwelcome to him, not a smile that vanishes without one of his own in its wake, not one kiss that doesn`t linger on their breaths long enough to remind them why exactly it`s the two of them against the world.

He does not take this mutual inclination-this overpowering feeling that threatens to consume- farther than that. Most of the time he is mindful of her, careful, controlled. In his own way, he is more honorable when it comes to her than any knight in shining armor. He`s always been intriguingly good at hiding his emotions, but she secretly cherishes the moments when his control slips and not even the most distant or knowing smirk could hide what he feels for her. This is when he whispers her name, hesitatingly, disbelief permeating his voice, almost like a prayer. 'Sansa…'

Today, Sansa patiently waits for him to come back from a crucial meeting with the Lords of the Vale. She fathoms how much depends on this and she trusts his intuition, but their plans depend entirely on their ability to convince everyone of their rightful claim to the Vale and their innocence concerning Lysa`s death.

She`s amazed at how unquestionably glad she is to see him on the stairs, advancing towards her, even though he doesn`t seem to look at her, doesn't wear his boyish, youthful smirk. Her wide smile fades instantly, for their isn`t one of his own to match it. He is colder again, putting a wall of detachment between them and she doesn`t understand why. She cannot believe there`s someone else, she know him too well for this. Or does she?

Finally, he stops in front of her, but doesn`t seem to eye or appreciate the feathered black dress she wears to remind him of the day when her transformation began. He doesn`t smile, but looks tiredly and somehow guardedly at her.

Sansa wants to open her mouth to speak, but Petyr cuts her off softly.

'Sansa, my dear, you have to marry Harrold Hardyng. We risk losing our position here. It`s the only way I can think of to secure it.'

She feels as if all the feathers in her dress have been burned and blackened even more with his betrayal. She cannot risk a single glance at him. She would hit him, desperately wants to get a reaction from him. But she hears his broken voice, more haunting and distant than ever.

'I`m sorry.'

**Hello again! I decided to continue this story, because I simply love Sansa and Petyr and their relationship intrigues me. Hope I didn`t disappoint. There`s more to come, I promise. More dialogue. Writing Petyr is a challenge for sure. **

**Please let me know what you think! **

**Until next time,**

**Ann**


	3. Doors

Sansa knows she should not feek the freshest betrayal like a deep needle in her already pierced heart. After all, he is Littlefinger, the most devious man in the Seven Kingdoms, the man who has built his whole life on deceit, lies and other`s crushed hopes.

But to her, he was also Petyr Baelish. Because for the first time in her ever-miserable life, she has taken a glimpse beneath the daggering veil of deceitfulness and intrigue, a veil woven so masterly that it is almost impossible to perceive for an unaccustomed beholder. And she has come to know him, Petyr Baelish. Even more and even more hurtful, she has begun to build up something wrenchingly difficult to describe for him, she has embraced the ironical twist and turn which deemed acceptable to bring them together in such peculiar circumstances. She trusts him, or used to do so. Right now, it`s too early to tell – but she feels the feathers burning to ashes on her shoulders and is willing for a moment to sink in, to let them carry her to the depths of suffering.

It`s a different, perhaps more excruciating sort of pain – the damaged chords of losing her beloved family, suffering at the hands of Joeffrey, hating the honeyed smile of his vile mother – all combined with sweet heart fluttering above with the wings of kisses, caresses, soft murmuring consuming a blazing promise. Could she have been wrong, deluded once again by empty distractions of a master manipulator?

But Sansa Stark knows.

She knows she could never forget the look in his eyes when she told him she figured out what he wanted and she trusted him all the more around her. Because his passionate eyes made her feel desirable, a feeling she could grow more than accustomed to, made her seem a powerful woman who was worth something to him. Even now, she can be sure of its meaning – unblemished desire.

Now, his eyes travel upon the glint of her stone-carved face, devoid of apparent sadness but prone more than ever to burst into tears… she knows there must be a hidden reason for this, a deadly quiet call for unraveling it that her heart begs to follow down the uncertain road.

But her puzzled mind traces another path for her. Harder to walk. Fine. If he wishes to be rid of her, one way or another, so be it. She knows she will cry alone in her locked chambers, she will drown in the void of the night`s siege and will dream darkly of him until another painful dawn.

'My lord' and the false courtesy cuts like a wall of icy resentment, 'then surely you ought to congratulate me for my happy and long-lasting marriage'. Sansa wishes she had a cup of wine, to raise it for her own deep well of sorrow.

And with that, she straightens her back, imaginarily arranges her black feathers on the constricting dress she took to wearing only for him and turns on her heels.

She feels her chin trembling with the supreme weight of unshed tears.

Petyr

What can he say to that? He has to admit, she`s making him proud with the cool, detached demeanor she has adopted in the blink of a few seconds.

'They taught her well. **I **taught her well. '

She learns from unseen shapes, suggestions, plots and players – she knows enough to hurt him in turn. She already proves to be his most painful fall, the biggest loss of his life, a tremendous regret, because he knows that from now on his detached mask mustn`t slip in front of her, no matter how bloody tempting it would be to tell her the hard-faced truth-they are on the edge of the cliff, surrounded by suspicious lords. He knows they risk losing not only the Vale, but both their lives, as it`s clear as they that these cold, dull, notoriously grim faced fools don`t trust them. In fact, they don`t trust him. But that`s enough to doom them all the same.

They desperately need to secure their position, by any means, need to make those pretentious highborn whisperers they are the same as them, no ulterior motives in sight.

Once more, for the thousandth time, he wonders if titles, revenge, claim, overall success would ever win them what the feeling between him and Sansa did in such a short span of time. For he once again gains something yet loses another hope, sacrifices only to keep going, refusing to admit defeat.

But all the titles in the Seven Kingdoms, no, all the tiltes in the wide, mysterious, overflowing world could never define him as well as she does. This is the real chaos beneath the climb. And he should pay the price.

She sobs. It`s nothing special, really. It`s just a part of who she is – a highborn girl who`ll never stop dreaming, whose dreams will always be shattered, who`ll pick herself up and start all over again no matter what.

Sobbing doesn`t make her weaker.

Surviving does make her stronger.

So she cries for another crushed illusion, leaning against the wall, with her knees at her chest, so unlike a proper little lady. But she doesn`t care enough to move, not anymore.

'It shouldn`t have been this way' a low, all too familiar voice mumbles and, for a moment, she wonders if he`s somehow in the room with her. But no, he must be on the other side.

Always on the other side.

'But how else could it have been, my lord?' She struggles to choke back tears and some strong little corner of her makes her raise her head and speak with a clear, unwavering syllables.

'Sansa, if I had any choice whatsoever…'

'You`d what? Give up all your plans and suddenly decide you`re not a player anymore? Is this what I`m supposed to believe?'

'We`re too far gone to promise you anything like that. But I`d devise other plans, if only I could!'

'No, it`s so simple this way. I`m trapped in other cage, another loveless marriage because you need to dispose of another pawn on the table. What do you care? Her voice was like ringing steel.

'Believe me, if I could, I`d marry you myself.'

'I don`t believe that for a minute.' She doesn`t. Not after how he disposed of her. 'Besides, even you should be aware that you`re too lowborn for that.'

It cuts. Deeper than ever – memories of that flood his mind and he knows how he vowed in his heart to **rise **above them all, to make them beg for mercy and remind them how stupid they are.

And now he hears the same old words coming from her and the pain is unbearable. Impulsively, he smashes his fist against the door, cursing loudly.

She thinks he might go now, leave her alone with her pride and heavy words she didn`t even mean.

After all, it would be so easy for him to throw some nasty remark in return, threaten or insult her. Yet the silence feels worst than any accusation. Silence cannot be fought. Not when you`re in her position, because silence clings to the suffering.

After a long while, perhaps prolonged by the heavy tears threatening to fall any time now, he tries some more to tell her what he should.

'Sansa. Not my lady, not Catelyn, not Lysa, not anyone else on earth. Please, open the door.'

**Thank you for reading this new chapter. There are more to come, I promise. Please let me know what you think! Hope with all my heart that you liked it! Until next time, Ann.**


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